


Make Your Own Path

by vanillalime



Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Childhood Memories, Community: oz_magi, Humor, Multi, Reminiscing, Summer Camp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 07:24:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7213264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillalime/pseuds/vanillalime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During an Em City poker game, Tobias Beecher and Jaz Hoyt discover some coincidences from their youth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Your Own Path

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lisacali](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisacali/gifts).



> Originally posted to LiveJournal in January 2015. Written for lisacali for Oz Magi 2014. The request:
> 
> Pairing/Character(s): any  
> Keyword/Prompt Phrase: two unlikely characters find out they have something unlikely in common  
> Canon/AU/Either: either  
> Special Requests: humor would be great, if the muses lean that way  
> Story/Art/Either: either

"I'm out," declared Hill, slapping his cards down on the table.

"Not me," smiled Hoyt. "I'll see your cigarettes, and raise you ten stamps."

The others sitting at the table slowly sat up a little straighter. Their eyes shifted from Hoyt to Keller.

Keller glared at Hoyt over the top of his cards. "That's a pretty big fuckin' raise."

"I've got a pretty good fuckin' hand."

O'Reily sighed as he threw his cards aside. "Well, I'm out, too."

Keller reached down into his pockets. He pulled out the contents and shuffled through them. He threw four postage stamps, a nearly-full container of spearmint Tic-Tacs, and an unopened tube of lube into the pot at the center of the table.

"I think that more than meets your raise," he said.

"But, Chris... " mumbled Beecher under his breath, before one look from Keller silenced him.

Hoyt laughed. "Lube? What the fuck am I gonna do with that?"

Keller smirked. "Use your imagination."

"Fine, whatever," replied Hoyt with a wave of his hand. "Call."

Keller spread his cards out on the table. "Three aces."

Everyone's eyes shifted back to Hoyt. Hoyt's grin stretched from ear to ear as he laid down his own cards. "Straight, jack high."

"Fuck."

Hoyt laughed again as he gathered the pot's riches and pulled them close, adding them to an already sizable pile of goods.

Keller folded his arms across his chest. "Maybe you should rein in the gloating before that becomes the new Dead Man’s Hand," he warned Hoyt.

"Just where did you learn to play poker so damn well?" asked Hill.

Hoyt’s smile faltered slightly. "At this lame-ass camp my parents sent me to every summer when I was a kid," he answered gruffly. "I hated almost everything about it. But there was this one counselor there who was sorta cool. The guy had a gambling problem and taught me a shit-load of stuff."

Hoyt paused while his demeanor changed. He got a far-away look in his eyes, and his voice took on a nostalgic tone. "It’s also where I rode a dirt bike for the first time," he reminisced, scratching his chin. He shook his head and chuckled, "If it hadn't been for those bike trails, I probably would've burnt Camp Golden Hills down to the ground."

Beecher’s head spun around. "Camp Golden Hills? On Lake Silverwood?"

"Yeah!" Hoyt nodded enthusiastically. "That’s the place. You heard of it?"

Beecher looked at Hoyt in astonishment. "I spent my summers there, too, when I was young."

"No shit! How 'bout that?" exclaimed Hoyt. "When were you there?"

"Mid to late '70s. Every year from the time I was ten until I turned fourteen."

"Ah, see, you’re a little bit older than me," Hoyt said. "We must've just missed each other. But still, small world, huh?"

"But how did someone like you… your parents…" Beecher’s voice trailed away in awkward confusion.

Hoyt’s eyes narrowed. "How could the parents of some loser like me afford Camp Golden Hills? That what you mean, Beecher?"

Beecher fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair. "Well, no, not like that, it’s just… I wasn’t aware… You don’t look… or act… is all," he stammered.

Hoyt glared at him, obviously irritated. "Jesus, Beecher, you’re not the only person in Oz who swallowed a silver spoon and shit it out."

O'Reily quickly gathered the playing cards and declared, "It's my turn to deal." He started shuffling them, and the rippling sound cut into the uneasy silence.

Beecher self-consciously cleared his throat. Smiling nervously, he softly sang, _"For Golden Hills we stand, it's the best camp in the land."_ He glanced at Hoyt.

Hoyt sucked in a breath and wiped his hand across his mouth. He hesitated briefly, before answering from between his fingers, _"From coast to coast, we offer the most."_

Beecher grinned, Hoyt nodded at him, and together they chanted, _"We’re a loyal crew, from the old to the new. We love Golden Hills, we'll always be true!"_

Then they both dissolved into laughter.

"Jesus fucking Christ," said Keller, eyes wide with a look that wavered between alarm and disgust.

O'Reily furrowed his brow. "No kidding. If that's the kind of shit that rich people forced on their kids, I'm glad I grew up poor."

Beecher wiped a tear from his eye and proclaimed, "No, no, no. It really wasn't that bad. I rather liked Camp Golden Hills, as a matter of fact."

"You did?" asked Hoyt incredulously. "Why? What did you do while you were there?"

"Well, I spent a lot of my free time in the camp library."

"Oh, really?" Hoyt grinned, looking impressed. "Now you're talkin'. Good for you!"

Beecher made a face, suddenly looking sheepish. "No, not like that. I liked to read. I remember that they had a complete collection of Sherlock Holmes stories."

Hoyt leered at Beecher. "Sure they did."

Beecher rolled his eyes.

"Wait a minute," interrupted Hill. "I think I missed something."

"Yeah," agreed Keller. "What was the big deal about the library?"

Beecher glanced nervously in Keller's direction. "NOTHING," he stated emphatically.

"Bullshit," declared O'Reily. "You're hiding something."

Hoyt and Beecher exchanged a look. When Beecher shrugged in defeat, Hoyt settled back in his chair and began to explain:

"Camp Golden Hills was an all-boys camp, but we had a sister camp that was only for girls, located just on the other side of the main road. The two camps kept the boys and girls separated for the most part, but we shared a few common facilities: the softball field, the bike trails, the camp infirmary, and…" Hoyt looked sideways at Beecher, "...the library."

Hoyt coughed, clearly struggling to maintain his composure. "Now, the librarian in charge of the place was an old drunk... no offense, Beecher."

"None taken."

"Every day, like clockwork, she'd come back from her lunch three sheets to the wind. She'd fall sound asleep at her desk and wouldn't wake up until it was time for the library to close. So, it was common knowledge among the older boys and girls that they could go to the library in the afternoons and use it as a rare opportunity to, uh, mingle."

"Mingle?" snickered Hill, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, specifically, in the library's coat closet, if you know what I mean."

Keller turned around to face Beecher. "Well, well, well," he said.

Beecher responded with a short huff, keeping his eyes on the table.

"Seven Minutes in Heaven, and let me tell you, it could be heaven indeed. I got to second base for the first time in that closet." Hoyt smiled at the recollection. Looking at Beecher, he said, "I can certainly understand why someone enjoyed Camp Golden Hills if that's how he spent his time."

"No!" Beecher suddenly blurted out, hitting the table with his fist. "That’s not why I was there! I was there to READ. I hated how people would go there just to make out! They were distracting! They'd always make me set the timer, and then I'd have to tell them when their time was up. On rainy days, it was like some twisted, adolescent version of a key party!"

The vein throbbing in his forehead, Beecher paused to catch his breath before continuing. "And old Mrs. Anderson was NICE. You just had to catch her in the morning, before she lost focus. She was smart, and funny, and helpful. I liked her! People were just taking advantage of her situation!"

Beecher then shifted in his seat and leaned toward Keller, finally looking him in the eyes. "And you? YOU?" He jabbed the air with his finger. "Don't. Even. Start."

Beecher sat back in his chair, folded his arms across his chest, and scowled.

"Whoa! Simmer down there, Miss Goody-Two-Shoes," mocked O’Reily.

"Me thinks the lady doth protest too much," Keller said under his breath.

Hoyt stared skeptically at Beecher. "Are you honestly telling me that you never went into that closet? With any girl?" Hoyt glanced in Keller’s direction. "Or guy?"

Beecher was quiet while everyone stared at him and waited for a reaction. Finally, he mumbled, "Once."

"A-ha!" Hill exclaimed.

"No, you don’t understand!" Beecher responded, louder again. "It meant something!" He frantically looked at the faces around the table. "My last summer at camp, there was this really cute girl who hung out in the library a lot, too. READING, like I did. She was a little younger than me, and kind of shy, but we became friends. I really liked her, so, at the end of the summer, yes, I took her into that closet."

Beecher blushed slightly as he lowered his voice. "We didn’t stay in touch, but Cynthia Winchester was my first real, serious crush."

"Cynthia Winchester?" choked Hoyt. "From Newport?" He grinned wildly. "I made out with her once, too. Must've been after you stopped goin’ to Camp Golden Hills."

"No, you didn’t."

"Yeah, I did." Hoyt began laughing. "I sure did."

"You did not!" repeated Beecher, his agitation escalating once more. "Maybe you’re confusing her with her younger sister."

"No, I made out with Jackie, too," Hoyt replied, nodding his head. "That same summer, as a matter of fact."

O'Reily and Hill began to laugh as well, while Keller intently studied the ceiling above them.

"But, but…" stuttered Beecher. "Cynthia would have been quite a bit older than you, and much more mature."

Hoyt wriggled his eyebrows suggestively. "You got that right."

"No! It just doesn’t make any sense! I mean, it’s not like you would’ve been her type, either."

"I hate to tell you this, Beecher, but everyone was Cynthia Winchester’s type."

"What the fuck is THAT supposed to mean?"

Hoyt failed to hide his smirk as he rubbed the corners of his mouth with his fingertips. "Well, Cynthia had a bit of a reputation when I knew her. I think she spent more time inside that library closet than she did out of it. Everyone at camp used to call her Sinful Cindy. Or worse."

"Shit, Beecher, it sounds like your charms awakened some kind of sexual animal," observed O’Reily.

"Wouldn’t be the last time," Keller murmured quietly with a grin. He reached under the table to adjust himself.

Beecher’s eyes threw daggers in Hoyt’s direction. "You’re a fucking liar," he hissed. "Cynthia wasn’t like that, at all. She was sweet and innocent. You’re making this shit up just to piss me off."

"Oh, yeah? I don’t exactly appreciate those accusations, Beecher," replied Hoyt in exaggerated offense. He pushed back his chair and stood up. "I want an apology."

"Just what are you going to do?" laughed Hill as he watched Hoyt's act. "Come to blows over the honor of some teenage crush from 20 years ago?"

"No, but Beecher’s wrong, and I can prove it," said Hoyt. He turned and began stomping toward his pod. After a few steps, he paused to look back and said, "I’ll be just a minute." Hoyt pointed his finger at Beecher. "Prepare yourself to apologize."

"Yeah, I'll do that," Beecher snarked sarcastically. He looked around at the others. "He's full of shit," he reiterated to them.

"Most likely," nodded Hill.

"Lying through his teeth," Beecher muttered, to no one in particular.

"I guess we'll see," shrugged O'Reily.

Beecher furrowed his brow. "Or, at the least, stretching the truth beyond recognition."

Keller remained silent.

Hoyt was already strolling back toward them. In his hand, he was holding a piece of glossy paper, folded multiple times into a small square. He sat back down in his chair and handed it over to Beecher.

"Be careful, it's a little sticky," Hoyt warned with a grin.

Beecher unfolded the paper to reveal the centerfold from an old issue of Penthouse magazine. Reclining on a white bearskin rug in front of a fireplace was Miss February, wearing nothing but a glittery, red paper heart that had been strategically placed between her enormous breasts. Next to her raised legs was a caption that briefly described the setting, which Beecher shakily read aloud:

_"Miss Cynthia Snow hails from Rhode Island, and she knows how to keep warm during its chilly New England winters. Let Cynthia invite you inside, and enjoy the heat of her fire as you take a load off. Treat her right, and it won't be long before you have Miss February's mountainous heart in your hands."_

"Isn't she somethin'?" Hoyt sighed. "I came across that spread a few years ago and saved it. Obviously, the magazine couldn't use her real last name, but that's Sinful Cindy, right there in the flesh. A LOT of flesh."

Beecher just sat there, staring at Miss February, not saying a word.

"Aw, sorry, Beecher. Looks like your angel is a centerfold," determined Hill.

"Man, that's a great song," commented O’Reily. "The J. Geils Band rocked."

"You have anything to say, Beecher?" Hoyt prodded.

"Sorry," he said softly.

"What was that?" Hoyt cupped his hand behind his ear. "I couldn't quite hear you."

Beecher cleared his throat. He sadly replied, "I’m sorry I called you a liar," in a surprisingly calm tone.

Hoyt looked at Beecher's face, and his expression softened a little. "Hey, that's okay. Look, you're welcome to keep the picture if you want."

"No, you can have it," Beecher said quickly. He re-folded the paper and handed it back to Hoyt. "I don't want it."

Hoyt shrugged, accepting the picture.

Keller, eyeing Beecher carefully, called out, "Hey, O'Reily, I’m gettin’ tired of waitin' for my winning hand."

O’Reily picked up the deck of cards once again and began to deal. "Alright, ante up. Five card draw, deuces wild…"

 

******** Later that night ********

After lights-out, Toby climbed down from his bed and crawled in next to Chris. They settled in together, Chris curled up alongside Toby’s back, nuzzling the nape of Toby’s neck and planting soft kisses amidst the curls. "You’ve been unusually quiet tonight," he mumbled into Toby’s ear.

"Just thinking."

Chris rolled his eyes. "About what?"

Toby stiffened. "I can sense when you roll your eyes, you know."

Chris smiled. "Can you read my mind, too?" He let his hand roam. "Guess what I wanna do right now."

Toby snorted. "I don’t need to be a mind-reader for that."

They were both quiet for a moment before Toby sighed. "I just can’t believe that Cynthia turned out the way she did. She was such a nice girl when I knew her, from a respectable family. Never in a million years did I think that she’d end up in the middle of a skin mag."

A bemused expression fell over Chris’s face. "Jesus, Tobe, don’t you think you’re bein’ a little hard on her?" he asked. "After all, she’d probably find it difficult to imagine you lying in a prison bunk with an ass full of my come."

That earned him the patented Beecher huff. Toby pushed Chris's hand away.

Chris rolled over onto his back and lay still in the silence, waiting. Sure enough, Toby eventually turned around and looked at him. "Do you think it's actually possible that I turned her into some sort of sex maniac?" he whispered.

Chris chuckled quietly, not bothering to hide his amusement. "Shit, is that what’s really buggin’ you?" He stroked the top of Toby’s head with his hand. "You’ll feel guilty about anything."

"I don’t feel guilty about fucking you," Toby retorted defensively.

"And why should you?" asked Chris in bewilderment. "It’s just a little harmless fun between two consenting adults. Just like what you did with Cynthia was harmless fun. Whatever she did later had nothin’ to do with you."

Toby’s body relaxed a little. "I guess you’re probably right. Sometimes I let my imagination get the best of me."

"Yeah, kinda like how I wanna get the best of you, right now," Chris growled. He reached for Toby’s cock and began stroking it. "C’mon, babe, fuck me. You can even imagine that I'm Miss February if you want. Just enjoy yourself, I don't care."

"Oh, you care," Toby replied. Nevertheless, he climbed on top of Chris and kissed him long and hard before pulling away. With smoldering eyes and a wicked smile, Toby murmured, "You're going to wish that you hadn't gambled away that lube."

Meanwhile…

Jaz Hoyt finally had the opportunity to privately examine his poker winnings. He thumbed through them, estimating and adding the values of the goods he’d accumulated.

He came across the old Penthouse centerfold of Miss February and spread it out. He smiled and grabbed the tube of lube that he'd won from Keller. Apparently, it was going to come in handy after all.

********

Camp Golden Hills had been right when they told their campers that they were going to meet people there who would have an influence on them for the rest of their lives. Maybe just not in ways that they’d intended.

**Author's Note:**

> Photo credits: The photos of "young Jaz Hoyt" are actually screencaps of actor Jackie Earle Haley in the 1976 film _The Bad News Bears._ Photos of "young Tobias Beecher" were taken from LeeTergesen.com.


End file.
